Well, well, well. Look who it was, sliding into her bar. It did save her the trouble of digging a pit for him to fall into. The IPD would probably appreciate it, too, since her idea of justice probably didn't synch up with theirs. Such sticklers cops were. But since she'd wanted to talk to him, might as well get it out of the way. She could suss him out, get a feel for how deep the con went and how much she'd have to make him pay for it.
"Sawyer."
She poured him a drink, sliding it over with a neutral gaze. If he thought she was pissed, well, having him on edge wouldn't hurt anything.
"Trixa," he greeted with a slightly raised brow, feeling out her mood, one which seemed to lick at the air like a fire blazing sky-high. Or no- not quite. It was too controlled, burning carefully with smoldering embers that glowed red-hot in the dark. Knowing that Neil was only some distance away, Sawyer did his best not to let his countenance show too much a deviation from the norm. There was no need to involve perfectly decent people, no need to disturb the peace- as much of it as there still was in the first place that weekend.
He took the drink, mind vaguely wondering if she'd dropped anything inside. If he'd pay for trusting her with a sharp ache in his gut later.
Trixa wasn't a poisoner. Don't get her wrong, she'd been tempted, more than tempted, but she never quite went that route. It was too impersonal, anyone could slip a little extra into someone's beer, but it took a trickster to really tailor the pain and frankly, where was the challenge in poison. She had a reputation to maintain, not to mention a boss to not implicate. She'd rather keep her extra curriculars, well, extra curricular
( ... )
He didn't have to meet her gaze to feel it searing into his skin- heavy, burning, and red-hot in its strength. He welcomed it as much as he did the liquor, the punishment that not a single person on the island seemed to be prepared to give him, all because they didn't know. All because they hadn't seen what a con's living could do to a kid. Line up the entirety of the island around to watch little James Ford, then let them know that it was just a regular long con that tore his life apart, and he was sure that more people would judge him. Lexie would learn to hate him. Neil would learn to resent him.
Kate was the only one who knew, the only one Sawyer believed understood it all. But she had her own burden to carry, and meting out punishment would only add to that.
"You're starin' daggers at me, Trixie," he grinned, careful not to let his eyes show as he stared off to her right. "Don't tell me- I forget to call?"
"Name's Trixa, Sawyer, I'd think a guy like you could remember it, or has it all blended together finally?"
All the names, all the lies, all the stories and tall tales, even she sometimes had a few problems keeping them all straight and she was genetically hard-wired for the con. It was her blood, it was her legacy, she could no more stop telling lies and spinning tales than she could quit breathing. Stop the heart in her chest from beating. But this man chose it, trained himself at it, hardened heart and soul to the pleas of his fellow.
The pleas of a small child, whose family was ruined because someone's greed outstripped his own humanity.
"I'll tell you one thing," he said first, holding his gaze steady with her own. "A man ain't gonna forget a woman who digs her claws into him." He'd deserved it, a voice in the back of his mind echoed yet again. He'd deserved to be treated like the man who tore families apart, who'd probably been responsnible for more lives than those that simply stood on the other end of his aim. But if there was anything which gave him pause when it came to that incident, it was whether or not anyone else needed to know. Whether that deadly force and anger stood a chance of burning further than the perimeter called for, in the same way that it had for Sawyer, in the same way that had changed him beyond his own recognition.
His lips thinned.
"You look like you're plannin' on a repeat performance."
"All the world's a stage. And I never say no to a show."
And he was a poor excuse for a player. A real con knows the limits and knows the reach of his games. A real con knows the results of his actions. Or maybe, just maybe, he had. Had he known the unstable nature of the man whose wife he'd seduced? Known that his vengeance would be violent, immediate and leave a child behind to mourn alone.
God help him if she found out he had. She would kill him for that, island laws be damned. Whoever that kid was as an adult here, he deserved a little justice for his lost childhood.
The words were delivered with more force than he felt resting in his chest. More surety than someone of his age should have been capable of. He was still too young for all of it- too young to be a murderer, too young to have given up on the good life. Too young to have been able to look a woman in the eye and practically ask for death itself, for punishment meted that would leave him bleeding. The sooner she was through with it, he reasoned, the better. Already, there were people on the island who were dependent on him, a little girl he looked after most afternoons, people in the office who expected him to report back every day on his patrol.
He didn't want to believe a single thing that slipped from Tom Sawyer's lips, but hell?
Purgatory?
Sometimes Sawyer wondered.
"Sooner rather than later, ain't that how it goes?"
"Okay, fine." She put her elbows on the bar and leaned forward, fixing him with her stare. He wanted to do this here, fine by her, she could handle that.
"Tell me about kids, Sawyer. Kids and cons, I was wondering if you had any thoughts on that." She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes, the image of that lonely little boy stoking the fires inside her until she could almost feel her skin warm to the touch.
"Love kids," he growled, even as he felt a twinge of fear in his chest. All he could see was wispy blonde hair, an unsuppressed smile, small hands grabbing to his shirt was he carried her light weight around. Calliope wasn't his, not by any stretch of the imagination, but it was funny what the mention of kids made him think of anymore. Reading car mags to Aaron. Waiting at the bottom of a slide for Calliope to emerge. Being pulled in one direction, then the other, whenever Neil's little girls were around. Sawyer wasn't equipped to deal with kids, but they were kind of hard to avoid.
"Don't think I'm meant to step within ten feet of 'em, but they keep on showing up anyhow," he continued, voice tight, shoulders tense.
"How cute, you're a kid magnet." Trixa wasn't impressed. She'd gathered her own strays more than once, sending some on, keeping others close until they were strong enough to go on their own. Kids find the good in everyone, it's why they're perfect victims... and the most painful of collateral damage. They're there and they trust right up until that trust is broken and it's so hard to get that back. Impossible for some.
"How the hell should I know?" There was a snap in his voice, brittle, like a crack spreading through glass, twisting and turning and splintering off altogether. Truth and lie seemed to mix all in one, but if there was anything that was clear, it was the upset in his voice, his tone strained, eyes narrowing with more than a hint of regret. Had kids been involved in his work? Never intentionally. Never deliberately. And yet, after he'd had his wake up call those few years ago, Sawyer was willing to bet that one or more had been, without him realizing, without him being able to do a thing about it.
The thought made him sick.
"I don't pay no attention to the kids in the picture. Damn well avoid them whenever the hell I can."
"And that's your problem. You didn't pay attention. And somewhere on this island there's someone who's life you ruined, Sawyer. Someone I met as a kid. A lonely, scared kid."
Her voice had that edge to it, the edge that meant she was close to forgetting she was in public. That she was close to reaching into her boot for the slim dagger she kept there. Trixa was seeing red, remembering that sad little kid, the one that had been so surprised that anyone could care about him, or help him.
"And as soon as I find them, I'm offering them the chance to pay you back."
"Funny," Sawyer remarked, his fingers lingering by the cool surface of his glass, running against the condensation until it began to slide along his skin, sending a shiver up his arm to where it remained, suppressed, somewhere along his spine. "Though that of all the people who could've figured out, you'd be one of 'em. 'Cause unless you met someone I didn't know..."
His eyes flickered up, no longer full of fear, so much as a heavy remorse which clouded the color of his eyes.
"I'm James Ford, sweetheart. Ask Neil if you want, if you don't believe me. But trust me, though." He downed the rest of his glass. "You ever find a kid I screwed over, you come find me quick as lightning. I ain't gonna deny anyone the chance to pay me back for what I done."
She should have known, it was like the island to do something like that. She knew better. Knew to do her homework, but before she'd really begun, he'd walked in and her anger had carried her. Dammit, she had egg on her face and it was her own damn fault. Her Mama would kick her ass at such an amateur mistake.
But her face didn't ease. While she felt the sympathy for the child transfer to the man, it didn't stop the anger. Because now there was a new problem, as a child he felt the pain, he knew the damage that could happen and as an adult he willingly dealt it to the unwary, heedless of the collateral. Knowingly, willingly, and maybe even enthusiastically.
"How? How could you do it, Sawyer? That kid wouldn't hurt the proverbial flea, he didn't lie, couldn't lie, and yet here you are. Everything that kid hated, everything he was afraid of. What kind of hell did you make for yourself?"
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"Sawyer."
She poured him a drink, sliding it over with a neutral gaze. If he thought she was pissed, well, having him on edge wouldn't hurt anything.
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He took the drink, mind vaguely wondering if she'd dropped anything inside. If he'd pay for trusting her with a sharp ache in his gut later.
Didn't matter.
He downed half of it in one go.
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Kate was the only one who knew, the only one Sawyer believed understood it all. But she had her own burden to carry, and meting out punishment would only add to that.
"You're starin' daggers at me, Trixie," he grinned, careful not to let his eyes show as he stared off to her right. "Don't tell me- I forget to call?"
Reply
All the names, all the lies, all the stories and tall tales, even she sometimes had a few problems keeping them all straight and she was genetically hard-wired for the con. It was her blood, it was her legacy, she could no more stop telling lies and spinning tales than she could quit breathing. Stop the heart in her chest from beating. But this man chose it, trained himself at it, hardened heart and soul to the pleas of his fellow.
The pleas of a small child, whose family was ruined because someone's greed outstripped his own humanity.
"And I don't wait for calls from guys like you."
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His lips thinned.
"You look like you're plannin' on a repeat performance."
Reply
And he was a poor excuse for a player. A real con knows the limits and knows the reach of his games. A real con knows the results of his actions. Or maybe, just maybe, he had. Had he known the unstable nature of the man whose wife he'd seduced? Known that his vengeance would be violent, immediate and leave a child behind to mourn alone.
God help him if she found out he had. She would kill him for that, island laws be damned. Whoever that kid was as an adult here, he deserved a little justice for his lost childhood.
Reply
The words were delivered with more force than he felt resting in his chest. More surety than someone of his age should have been capable of. He was still too young for all of it- too young to be a murderer, too young to have given up on the good life. Too young to have been able to look a woman in the eye and practically ask for death itself, for punishment meted that would leave him bleeding. The sooner she was through with it, he reasoned, the better. Already, there were people on the island who were dependent on him, a little girl he looked after most afternoons, people in the office who expected him to report back every day on his patrol.
He didn't want to believe a single thing that slipped from Tom Sawyer's lips, but hell?
Purgatory?
Sometimes Sawyer wondered.
"Sooner rather than later, ain't that how it goes?"
Reply
"Tell me about kids, Sawyer. Kids and cons, I was wondering if you had any thoughts on that." She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes, the image of that lonely little boy stoking the fires inside her until she could almost feel her skin warm to the touch.
"Because I sure as hell do."
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"Don't think I'm meant to step within ten feet of 'em, but they keep on showing up anyhow," he continued, voice tight, shoulders tense.
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"That extend to your work, too?"
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The thought made him sick.
"I don't pay no attention to the kids in the picture. Damn well avoid them whenever the hell I can."
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Her voice had that edge to it, the edge that meant she was close to forgetting she was in public. That she was close to reaching into her boot for the slim dagger she kept there. Trixa was seeing red, remembering that sad little kid, the one that had been so surprised that anyone could care about him, or help him.
"And as soon as I find them, I'm offering them the chance to pay you back."
Reply
His eyes flickered up, no longer full of fear, so much as a heavy remorse which clouded the color of his eyes.
"I'm James Ford, sweetheart. Ask Neil if you want, if you don't believe me. But trust me, though." He downed the rest of his glass. "You ever find a kid I screwed over, you come find me quick as lightning. I ain't gonna deny anyone the chance to pay me back for what I done."
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But her face didn't ease. While she felt the sympathy for the child transfer to the man, it didn't stop the anger. Because now there was a new problem, as a child he felt the pain, he knew the damage that could happen and as an adult he willingly dealt it to the unwary, heedless of the collateral. Knowingly, willingly, and maybe even enthusiastically.
"How? How could you do it, Sawyer? That kid wouldn't hurt the proverbial flea, he didn't lie, couldn't lie, and yet here you are. Everything that kid hated, everything he was afraid of. What kind of hell did you make for yourself?"
Reply
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